Wednesday, 23 September 2009

Smilla meets professor

Even though he omits his title, it’s still understood. Along with the fact that we must not forget that the rest of the world’s population is at least a head shorter than him, and here, under his feet, he has legion of other doctors who have not succeeded in becoming professors, and above him is only the white ceiling, the blue sky, and Our Lord — and maybe not even that.

He radiates courtesy and dominance, and I ought to be happy. Other women before me have been happy, and there will be many more. What could be better at life’s difficult moments than having six feet seven inches of polished medical self-confidence lo lean on?

We all live our lives blindly believing in the people who make the decisions. Believing in science. Because the world is inscrutable and all information is hazy. We accept the existence of a round globe, of an atom’s nucleus that sticks together like drops, of a shrinking universe — and the neccessity of interfering with genetic material. Not because we know these things are true, but because we believe the people who tell us so.